


Touch Starved

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Awkwardness, Gender Neutral Reader Insert, Loneliness, Masturbation, Other, Present Tense, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: On impulse, you buy a Google IRL. It can't hurt the loneliness, can it?





	Touch Starved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NBmess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBmess/gifts).



Here is a secret, completely free of charge; skin hungers.

Skin hungers desperately, like someone stuck on a desert island, sans legs, eyeing their own arms. 

Skin hungers for stroking, kissing, tapping, sucking.

You are, quite possibly, dying.

You're going to die of starvation, wither away to nothing like something out of a famine relief poster.

You sit in your apartment, hugging your knees to your chest, and you ache to be touched.

It's... it's not always the easiest thing, for you to find dates, and it's exhausting to pursue people, it's exhausting to find people who are willing to be pursued, and you learned a long time ago that if you want any of that kind of thing, you have to do all the pursuing.

And it's... it's exhausting.

But what else are you going to do?

You sigh, pulling your laptop closer, beginning to fiddle with it, typing up, the clattering like a machine gun.

You've been staring at the ad for days and days - you haven't really... thought about it, too deeply, except when you did.

You want some company.

It's going to be hard for you to find company around here, because... well, what with one thing and another....

You sigh, and the cursor hovers over the ad.

Then you close the window, and you go back to reading the Buzzfeed article.

You don't need to buy a robot for some companionship. 

You can meet people in the real world, without having to buy them.

You can!

* * *

You go on a date with someone you meet at work, more to prove to yourself that you can ask someone out than because you actually like this person. 

It sucks.

It sucks a lot, and when you get home, you change out of your uncomfortable clothes, and you pull your laptop into your lap, to go drown your sorrows in cooking videos and people talking about old cartoons.

And the ad flashes again, only it's flashier now, and it's got the word "sale" on it, flashing like a night in Las Vegas.

Your cursor hovers over it again, and you sigh.

This... this is weird.

It feels weird.

Can you even afford this?

It feels like you're looking at a combo body pillow/sex toy, and you know logically that there isn't any shame in that, you know that people can enjoy their own bodies and their own interests with their own money, but... still.

You've seen all the jokes about people ordering Google IRL, and you don't want to be one of those people.

Either you're a hipster trend follower, which is... urgh, or else you're a pathetic loser that can't even get anyone to keep them company without having to pay for it. 

Not even having to pay for it. 

You having to fucking... _program_ them.

You groan, covering your face with both hands.

This is fucked up.

This is so fucked up.

You close the window, open up YouTube. 

You can do other shit right now. 

You can watch a professional chef try to make Skittles, or listen to someone talk about the downfall of Neopets. 

You'll be fine.

Everything will be fine.

* * * 

Everything is not fine.

Everything is dull, is lonely, is blank.

You draw in on yourself, day after day after day.

You sleep in your empty bed, and you try not to make eye contact with anyone on the bus, you do your own thing, as much as you can.

Maybe you're numb inside, maybe you're not, but you... you need someone.

Something.

You sit in your bed one night, laptop in your lap, and you sigh, and you finally - _finally_ click on the ad.

* * *

_Google IRL,_ reads the ad copy. _Helps with everything!_

That isn't a very good tagline.

But the robot is... is very good looking. 

You can get one customized, apparently, or you can get a randomized version, and it's... it's a lot cheaper than you'd think.

If you buy this robot, you won't be able to go on vacation.

Not that you're really looking forward to going on vacation anyway - you can sit on a beach by yourself being lonely, instead of sitting in your apartment being lonely.

You sigh, and you click "random" on the robot choice.

You can't believe you're doing this.

It's nearly three in the morning.

You shouldn't be making thousand plus dollar decisions about buying shit, when it's this late.

But are you going to have the guts to do this at any other time?

Your heart is beating very fast, and your face is getting hot.

How can you be so embarrassed, about buying something, in the confines of your own home?

... how pathetic does this make you?

You're not sure, except that... well, what else are you going to do?

A little bit of you wants to die, because fuck. 

You're buying a robot for companionship.

You're like every creepy basement dwelling dude who carries a body pillow around.

But maybe you could use the android for other stuff.

You need stuff done in your life, after all. 

It can help you keep up with your chores, maybe help you get a social calendar. 

You've got so much stuff that you can do with an android - it can help you get out of the house, maybe. 

It can help you take the initiative for shit.

Maybe you're thinking too hard about this. 

Do other people agonize over their purchases to this extent?

... probably, come to think about it.

You're a bit more anxious than other people, but not by much. 

You flop back onto your bed, closing the laptop, and you cover your face with both hands.

You just bought an android.

What are you going to even _do_ with an android?

Do you have space for an android?

An android has to be better than this crushing, aching loneliness, right?

_Anything_ has to be better than this.

Sometimes, you think you're going to die of it, but there's nothing you can do about it. 

You can’t reach out to people, without chasing them, and you’re so fucking tired of chasing people. 

So who fucking cares. 

You’ll have an android. 

Worst case scenario, you can donate it to someone - there are charities that ask for android donations, since they’re so handy for other things. 

So… fuck it.

This is the era of “treat yourself,” so you’ve treated yourself.

… this all feels like hollow justification, but fuck it. 

You’re miserable.

This will probably keep you from being slightly more miserable, and it _is_ your money. 

You can do whatever the fuck you want to do with it, and that’s that, at the end of the day. 

* * * 

You're not expecting the package to arrive so quickly.

It only takes them two weeks to make your android, and they deliver it - him? - a day early.

They don't even call you about it - your neighbor ends up calling you at work, reluctantly admitting that there's a strange man just standing in front of your apartment.

You're grateful for that, at least - you catsit for that neighbor sometimes, and they pick up your mail when you go on vacation.

They don't usually socialize much, though, more the pity.

So then you're leaving your job early, mumbling apologies, and then you're making your way towards home, your heart beating very fast in your chest.

What if this isn't actually the android?

What if this is just a strange man, loitering around your door?

... why would a strange man be loitering around your door in the first place?

You're probably overthinking this again.

When you get home, you blink.

There is a man standing at your front door.

A very handsome man - he's got dark hair, brown eyes, and a pair of glasses.

Google glasses, of course, because... well, since when is Google not on brand?

It - no, he, anything with a face like that is going to have a more personal pronoun - is just... standing there with a slightly bored expression.

Even the bored expression is kind of gorgeous.

Holy fuck.

Holy... wow.

He's... he's a lot prettier than you thought he'd be.

Not that you'd expected him to be ugly, but... wow.

"Hello," says the android, and it's got a voice that's as smooth and rich as butter.

"Hi," you say, and you already feel kind of dumb about it, but fuck it, who cares, he's gorgeous, and your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it in your ears.

"Are you the Google IRL I ordered?"

"It depends," he says, and then he asks your name and email. 

You give it to him.

"Yes," he says, and he smiles at you, offering a hand.

You pause, looking at his hand, then looking at his hand. 

Um.

If you touch him, he'll be imprinted to you.

This is a new thing. 

You read about it. 

It's a thing - they imprint on their owner's skin, and then... well, you're stuck, unless you explicitly release them, which is a complicated process.

It makes it so that there are a lot less abandoned androids wandering around the place, although you haven't seen that many.

There are apparently gangs of them roaming in certain parts of the country, but if that's true... well, you haven't seen it. 

You take your hand in his, firmly, and... it feels like a hand.

Maybe a little bit cooler than a human hand, but it's that same mix of slightly bony and slightly soft that all humans have.

There's a little spark, as he imprints, and then his eyes flash blue, just for a moment, just at you.

He's smiling at you, and you smile back at him, a little nervous.

This is all really... weird.

How do you interact with an android?

You're always kind of nervous interacting around small children or around animals, and this feels similar.

But the android just smiles at you, and he has such a lovely smile.

"Do you have a name?"

It strikes you that the both of you are standing out in the middle of your hallway, and you should probably take him into the house.

"Google is my name, although you can call me something else, if you'd like," says the android.

"Do you have a preference?"

"I'm an android," says the android. "I don't have preferences."

"... right," you say, as you unlock your front door, the two of you stepping in. "Well, if, uh, if you want to have them, you can."

"Thank you," says the robot.

The two of you are now standing in your small living room, which is... a lot messier than you remember it.

You didn't realize that you were going to have the android here today, or you would have cleaned up for it. 

... you got the android, at least partially, to help you keep on top of the chores, and now you're planning to clean up _for_ it?

Wow.

There's something vaguely pathetic about that.

Or maybe you're just being too hard on yourself, although you do that a lot, don't you?

"This is my home," you say, and you clear your throat, rubbing your hands together.

"It's a lovely home," the android intones, as if from on high.

You look at him sidelong.

If you didn't know better, you'd think that he was being sarcastic.

His eyes are still flashing blue.

"Is there... is there anything you'd like? Can I get you something to eat? Drink?"

"I don't eat or drink," says the android, "but thank you for the offer."

"Right," you say. "Well, uh... make yourself at home. I'm going to... I'm going to take a shower."

"Do you need assistance?"

The android's tone is still the same calm, deep, measured voice that he was using before, but his eyes were still flashing blue, just a bit.

It's mildly unsettling, in a way that you hadn't realized could be unsettling.

Then again, how much time have you spent around androids, all things considered?

You lick your lips, watching his face, and he gazes back at you, his expression practically bland.

If someone with a face that gorgeous can ever have a face that can be described as "bland."

"Can you... can you get wet?"

"I am waterproof," Google says. 

"Well," you say, and you laugh, self conscious, "I'll be fine. I can take a shower on my own."

"That's good," Google says, in that same bland tone of voice.

... this isn't going how you imagined.

You're not sure how you imagined it, honestly, but it wasn't... quite like this. 

You lick your lips, and then you're making your way to your small bedroom.

And Google is following you. 

You pause, and you look at him.

“Can I help you?”

You’re blushing as soon as the words come out of your mouth. 

He’s supposed to help you, not vice versa.

You’re being so awkward.

“Is there any way I can provide some assistance?” 

He’s just said what _you_ just said, only he managed to sound all fancy while he said it.

Because of course he did.

“Can you… that is, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate if you could, uh, if you could… if you could clean up things a bit.”

“Of course,” he says. “Where would you like me to start?”

“In the kitchen,” you say, because you’re not the best at cleaning as you cook. 

And then he just… turns around, and walks out.

Well.

At least you can get out of your work clothes, and take a shower.

You still close the door, because it feels weird to be naked around someone else, even if that someone else is technically not human.

He has a human face.

… you’ve always felt weird being naked in front of animals, let alone something (or someone) with a human face.

* * * 

You sigh when you get into the shower, tilting your head back, so that the water can patter down onto your face, pasting your hair down.

That’s… that’s nice.

That’s very nice.

You wash your everything, from your hair to the bottoms of your feet.

You can do your best to at least not smell like your job, since now you have someone else living with you.

… sort of.

Can androids smell things?

You’ll have to ask him.

If that’s not rude.

Is it possible to be rude to an android?

You really _are_ overthinking this.

You just need to… relax a bit.

Your hand strays between your legs, and you pause.

Hmm.

You could, theoretically, masturbate.

It would clear your head.

But it feels weird to masturbate when you’ve got someone else in the house, even if that someone else is an android.

At least… well, at least you can wait until the evening, right?

It’s easier to masturbate in bed, versus standing in the shower.

Or maybe you’re just too self conscious right now.

You groan, and press your forehead into the cool tile of your shower stall.

Maybe you need to do something about all of this anxiety. 

It might help.

But okay.

First things first, get out of the shower, put on clothes, then… figure out what to do next.

* * *

Google is still cleaning your kitchen when you get out of the shower.

He’s scrubbing industriously at a stain on your stove, from the time that you accidentally over boiled a pot, when you were trying to make strawberry simple syrup.

“Do you… do you need help?”

You’ve always felt awkward standing by while someone else is working, and this time is no exception.

The android turns to look at you.

“Would you like to help?”

You pause.

Do you want to help, or do you just feel guilty?

You shouldn’t just do something because you feel guilty, but at the same time, he _is_ literally programmed to take care of this stuff, and you bought him specifically to help you with things that you have trouble staying on top of.

“Only if you want me to,” you tell him.

“Right,” he says, and he goes back to scrubbing.

Lacking anything else to do, you go take your usual place on the couch, pulling your laptop into your lap and beginning to noodle around.

You can hear him bustling around, faintly, and you wish you could forget he’s there.

You’re not used to having someone else in your space.

You’ve been lonely, true, but you hadn’t realized how much you’d enjoyed some of the solitude.

Some part of you wants to ask him to come over, to cuddle you, to hold you.

But that would be… it would be weird.

You’re not sure if you could put your finger on _why_ it would be normal, but still.

You sigh, leaning back, and then Google is standing behind your couch.

“Your neck and shoulders are tense, and he presents his hands. “Would you like a back rub.”

“Um,” you say, because… well, um. 

How do you react to that?

He stand there, hands outstretched, and they smell faintly of soap - he must have washed his hands after attacking that stain on your stove. 

“My hands can vibrate as well,” he says, and he demonstrates. 

They buzz faintly.

You blush harder, because… well, your mind goes someplace very dirty after hearing that.

Um.

“Okay,” you say.

“Thank you,” he says, and then his hands are on your shoulders.

It’s a deep vibration - it penetrates deep enough that it practically makes your bones vibrate, and you’re sighing, as the knots in your back begin to unwind.

It’s… it’s uncomfortable, but in a nice way, and his thumbs are digging in, rolling in circles, until you’re melting into the couch, getting horny and sleepy at the same time. 

Your skin is singing from the attention, from the chance to actually touch another person, and you hadn’t realized how badly you need it.

How you still need it.

Okay, so Google isn’t exactly a person, but his skin feels close enough to human skin that your whole body is just… crying out for more of it.

Literally crying out - you’ve got tears dashing down your cheeks.

Oh god.

“That’s enough,” you say, although it’s not, it’s nowhere near enough, but you can’t exactly unload all of your feelings onto a robot, can you?

That would be rude.

Google stops vibrating his hands, but he keeps them in place.

“Are you alright?”

It’s the same bland monotone, but it’s… it’s been a while since you’ve heard someone say that.

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice rough. “Can you make me dinner?”

You normally cook for yourself or order out, but… well, your funds are going to be a bit tight for a while, and if you’ve got a android, why not have it make you dinner? 

“Please tell me your dietary preferences,” the android intiones.

So you spend fifteen minutes describing your likes, your dislikes, your allergies.

He has a slightly blank look on his face - blanker? - and then he returns back to whatever facial expression is his normal one.

… assuming that is his normal one. 

Is that his normal facial expression?

… does he not like you?

Why are you freaking out about this?

He’s looking at you, his expression calm.

He’s an android.

He’s not made of metal, exactly, but he’s not made of meat the way you are.

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, and then you go back to scrolling through your social media.

You’ve got shit you need to update, you’ve got people you want to catch up on.

It feels weird to be just… sitting here, while someone else is doing stuff. 

The guilt is beating at the back of your mind, but when you look up, Google is just chopping vegetables, then sauteing… something or other.

You can smell it - it smells good - and you’re just… sitting here.

Useless.

You sigh, and go back to noodling around.

You bought him for a reason.

It wasn’t _just_ companionship.

You can do other stuff.

It’s okay.

You’re okay.

It’s all gonna be okay.

* * *

You eat dinner at your kitchen table.

Your _cleared_ kitchen table - you haven't seen the top of your kitchen table in over a month. 

It's not that you're a slobby person, per se.

But it's easier to just put stuff down when you walk in, and so a lot of junk mail and random stuff just kinda... accumulates. 

He's even put it in piles - to be reviewed, to be thrown out, to be kept. 

And he just... stands there, watching you eat.

You clear your throat.

"You can sit down," you tell him.

"Do you want me to?"

"If you... if you want to?"

"I don't have wants or needs," says the android, in that same smooth, smooth voice.

"Well, you can... I mean...."

You clear your throat.

You hadn't thought about all of the details about this.

There is something undeniably weird about telling someone that they can have feelings - as if you're being presumptuous enough to suggest that you have a right to tell them how to feel.

You probably should have put more thought into this, come to think of it.

You lick your lips, and you look over at him, and then you take another bite of your dinner, because what else are you going to do.

He keeps standing there, and he looks at you. 

"Come sit down," you say to him. 

It's creepy, having him just standing there, looking at you.

And then he's sitting down across from you, on your cleaned kitchen table.

He even wiped it down.

He's got a beautiful face - wide, expressive eyes, kissable lips, deep eyelashes....

He's a very beautiful man.

Android?

A man who was made to be beautiful, to be sure, but still beautiful. 

What would it be like, to kiss him?

What would his mouth taste like, when he didn't eat?

You're blushing, and you lick your lips. 

Um.

This is beginning to feel kind of... weird, honestly.

You shouldn't want to kiss an android.

What was that old joke that you used to snicker at?

Oh yeah.

_I'm such a feminist, I bought a fleshlight to eat it out._

That's what kissing an android is like, isn't it?

It kind of is.

"Is something funny?" 

You flush, and you glance over at him.

"I'm sorry."

"Why re you sorry?"

"I'm being rude," you say, and you lick your lips. "Do you... that is, can you eat?"

"I can't eat," he says. "And you can't really be rude to me. I'm a machine."

You shrug.

"It feels weird to be rude to anyone. And I guess you're an any _one_ , not an anything."

"Why?"

He's looking at you very intently with his big brown eyes, and you've got a lump in your throat.

"Well," you say, and you clear your throat, take another bite to chew the food and your thoughts over. "Well, for one thing, you have a face."

"I do have a face," he says, in a tone that could almost be read as agreeable.

"I have trouble being... rude to anything on purpose," you say. "I sometimes worry that, you know, I'm being rude to someone without realizing it."

"Isn't part of being rude knowing that you're doing something rude and doing it anyway?"

He sounds... interested.

Huh.

"I mean, that's part of it," you say, "but part of it is just being rude in the first place. Sometimes people just end up being rude for whatever reason, and it's... well, it sucks, but you gotta adapt."

"So you try to make yourself adapt, but you don't expect other people to adapt?"

"I didn't say that," you say quickly. "Unless... I implied that?"

"That's what I was referring to," says Google. "You're worried about the implications, when someone would have to read pretty deeply into what you were saying that."

"You think?"

He shrugs.

"I'm just a machine," he says. "I am merely observing."

"But yeah," you say, as the awkward silence stretches on. "It's just... you know, I don't like being mean. And I tend to interpret rudeness as being mean."

"And you don't even want to be mean to something like me?"

"Basically." you say.

"It would make you feel bad?"

"It would make me feel awful."

"We can't have you feeling awful," he says, in a voice that is probably supposed to sound jovial, but honestly comes off a bit... unsettling.

Unless you're reading too much into it.

You sigh, keep eating your dinner.

"Would you like me to select a podcast for you to listen to?"

"A podcast?"

"You can download podcasts of your choice to my database, and I will play them for you."

"... how do you play them?"

"I project them from my mouth."

"... no, thank you."

The mental image of Google standing there, mouth open, projecting multiple voices... it kind of gives you the creeps, actually.

That sounds like something you'd see in a horror movie.

"I can also narrate books, if you'd prefer?"

"Oh, yes, please," you say.

"Please enter your ebook account, so I may access them."

You give him the details, carefully spelling out your username and your password.

Then you tell him the name of the book you want him to read.

"Shall I start from the beginning, or where you last left off?"

"Start from the beginning," you tell him.

And then he begins to talk.

It's almost as if he's reading to you - he puts more emotion in his voice, and it rises and falls, like someone talking.

It's like being read to, when you were very small.

You sigh, and you let it roll over you, chewing carefully so it doesn't make too much noise.

You didn't realize just how badly you've needed to just have someone to read to you.

He's got a good voice for reading, too.

It's a fantasy brick, and he makes the world come to life, with every word pronounced, with each description used.

You finish your dinner, but you stay at the table, letting your eyes slide shut, just listening to him telling you the story. 

You're not even aware that you're growing drowsy, until he's standing up, still talking, and he's... shaking you awake.

"Would you like to go to bed?"

His voice is still calm.

You glance at the clock - it's only about eight in the evening.

Not nearly late enough for you to really fall asleep.

"Could you keep reading to me?"

"Certainly," he says, as you make your way to your couch again.

You sprawl out on it, as he reads.

The main hero and heroine are off on their adventure, bickering.

You originally found it annoying, when you were reading it, but knowing that they're going to get together (and _oh_ how they're going to get together) makes it more bearable. 

As does hearing it in Google's sweet voice.

You cover your face with one arm, and you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, in the story he's telling.

And then he gets to the bit.

You must have been zoning out, because you jolt back to humiliating awareness, when he says the word "breast."

He's standing opposite you, on your comfy chair, and you're glad that he's comfy. 

If he can be comfy.

But he's describing the hero touching the heroine's breasts, and you're blushing, licking your lips. 

Your own arousal is beginning to pound through you.

When you read this bit of the book, by yourself, you rubbed one out.

Now you're with the android, and while he might not _technically_ be a person, as other people saw it, he still has a face.

He has eyes that are trained on your own, and god, you're... you're blushing very hard, and you're shifting.

But you don't want him to stop.

You don't want him to ever stop, you want him to just keep talking to you, you want to... you want to touch yourself.

Or better yet, you want... god, you want him to touch you.

It's like a sex toy, right?

... sort of.

Except face.

You can't think of him as a sex toy when he's a "him" and he has a face.

You groan, covering your face with both hands, pressing your thighs together in hopes of making your arousal less obvious.

You're worried he's noticed already - you've been known to leak through your own jeans before, let alone thin pajama pants.

He's stopped reading, and the silence between the two of you is full of your heartbeat, full of your own breath.

You are painfully aware of just how embarrassingly... organic you are.

"Do you require any assistance?"

If you didn't know better, you'd think that he was being smug.

"I'm fine," you say, and your voice is rough.

"Your heart rate is elevated," he says, "and your skin is flushing."

"I'm, uh... it's hot in here," you say.

"Lowering temperature," he says, and indeed, he has - the air conditioner turns on, buzzing.

You sigh, leaning back into the couch. 

"If you are sexually aroused," he says, "I can offer you some assistance."

You make a surprised noise, sitting up to look at him.

"What?"

"As you are an adult, and the person who bought me, I come equipped with sexual programming," he says, in a tone that is, if anything, condescending.

You're obviously reading too deep into it.

"W-what?"

"One of my functions," he repeats. "You can touch me, or you can order me to touch you."

"I don't want to order you to touch me," you say, and your voice is hoarse.

Your mouth is very dry. 

"Do you want me to touch you?"

His voice is so... matter of fact.

"I feel like it would be... weird."

"I'm self sterilizing," he says, "and I vibrate."

He demonstrates.

And... when was the last time you were touched by someone else?

Really touched by someone else, felt someone else's skin against your own?

His skin might not be made of the same stuff that yours is, but it's still skin.

"Please," you say, and you're ashamed at the tears dripping down your face.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me," you say.

"How do you want me to touch you?"

His voice is silky, as he slides closer to you, until he's close enough that you could touch him, if he leaned even a fraction of an inch closer.

You mean to say something like _touch me to make me cum_ or _make me feel good with your touching_.

Instead, you say, "touch me like you love me."

... where the fuck did that come from?

You may be a lonely sad sack, but you're not going to seek some kind of salvation from an android.

That's for the likes of some kind of cheesy drama.

He doesn't response for a moment - he stands there, and his eyes are blank - various lights are going off, and you've got a little moment of panic, as you worry that you've completely fried his brains.

And then he's leaning forward, and he's kissing you. 

He's kissing you with his mouth, with his tongue - he has a tongue, and it's damp with... something, as he slides his fingers along your belly, under your shirt.

"Is this how you like to be touched?"

He's bending over you, and you're reminded, absurdly, of the classic Sleeping Beauty pose.

Your heart is beating very fast, but you nervously loop your arms around his shoulders, your fingers buried in his hair.

His hair is soft - it feels almost like real hair.

"I trust you," you tell him, your voice quiet, as he kisses you again, and his hand slides into your pajama pants, and then he's... oh.

He's touching you, right there.

The very tip of his finger, right against your most sensitive spot, and you're trembling.

And then his fingers start to vibrate.

Oh. 

Fuck.

This is more... intense than any vibrator that you've got experience with, and you try to roll your hips forward, as best you can. trying to get him right where you want him. 

He keeps his hand in place and he presses his forehead against yours, and you’re breathing in his scent.

His… complicated scent, you don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t _matter_ , because he’s curling his fingers, shifting them, and you’re cumming… fuck, you’re really cumming, it’s… it’s intense, it’s wet, and it’s across his hand, but he’s just… still holding you, his fingers still vibrating.

You sigh, flopping back, and you stroke his hair, gently. 

“Thank you,” you say to him. 

That yearning in the center of your chest has stopped, just a little.

Maybe… maybe you’ll be alright. 

“Would you like me to continue reading to you?”

“Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic? 
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


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